


Unbreakable

by Tadaliel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens, F/F, Gladiator fighting, Gore, M/M, Multi, Other, The Champion, The time Shiro spent on Galra ships in the arena, Violence, more tags to be added later, nonconsensual sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadaliel/pseuds/Tadaliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galra forced innocent blood upon unwilling hands. Unwanted hands touched him, claimed him in ways he pushed from his thoughts. A vengeance born of bloodlust from his captors spread through him. He'd do anything to survive just to have the slightest chance to rip any Galras head from their shoulders. Afterall, he is the the coveted and legendary, blood thirsty champion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: What you must do

**Author's Note:**

> No Sendak appearance yet, just Shiro dealing with after battle wounds and thoughts. First chapter is pretty short BUT its basically just the prologue and to set the tone!
> 
> Specific warning tags for this chapter:
> 
> •Descriptions of violent actions/deaths  
> •Cringey painful dealing with wounds  
> •Killing of a child/teenager
> 
> You can get a hold of me/request something at my Tumblr; Tadaliel

Blood matted hair rested against the cold alloy of a cell door. The first beginnings of white tuft soiled by splashes of red. Chest still heaving and veins pumping with the remains of the fight or flight adrenaline.

 

More lives taken by his hands. How many was it now? No, best not to think about it. However, their looks of terror stayed ingrained in his thoughts.

 

Although one stood out in particular from the most recent gauntlet. A mercy kill that still stained his hands with a fluorescent orange color, a sickeningly sweet scent came with it, almost like Earth's honey-suckle flowers. Although sweet and nostalgic, it made his stomach churn.

 

The alien looked young, possibly still in the adolescent stages of its life, barely standing as tall as his sternum. It reminded him of an Earth gecko with yellow skin and black speckles reminding him of freckles, tentacles like pigtails framed the small bloodied face, a stumped tail curled awkwardly behind their back with nervous flicks. It made him curious even now how they managed to survive that long.

 

They'd been injured, trembling as they held a sword too heavy to lift properly, dragging along the ground as they moved in an awkward manner on two webbed feet. Even if they'd won the duel against him, a large gash along its stomach told him they wouldn't make it another hour. The Galra saw no point in wasting precious medical resources on toys meant to die for entertainment. 

But such was not the case as the crowd cheered, “Champion!” over and over in unison, awaiting the death of the small creature hungrily, without remorse for the fragile life. At the moment it had made him wonder, what had the poor creature done to deserve such a fate?

 

They pleaded in another language to him, wobbling weakly as they stood before him. Although Shiro couldn't understand the words spoken, he knew what was asked. After all, the Galra knew no mercy. They would writhe in their cell in pain and die a slow painful death as they bled out. If they were lucky, a fever would put them into an unconscious sleep so they could pass more peacefully.

 

Shiro motioned for them to close their eyes. They understood the gesture and did so, letting go of the heavy sword in their grasp, letting it hit the dust by their feet. Although Shiro would not look away, he would let their death be seen by someone kind and merciful, rather than the beasts comfortable in their seats, thirsty for its bloodshed.

 

In one fell swing, their head was separated from their shoulders and the body fell into the puddle of sickly sweet blood, head rolling to a stop once it hit his boots. Quick, painless, and over in a split second.

 

The crowd cheered, yet it fell on deaf ears as Shiro granted them a last act of kindness. Kneeling down, he closed the yellow eyes that too had speckles, looking as if it they were a galaxy in such a fragile skull. Shiro said a small prayer for them, that for whatever deity was in the cruel galaxy, they would give them a better life in their next.

 

The pain in his ribs pulled him away from the memory. The adrenaline high was wearing off and his senses were coming back. Shiro hadn't even noticed his hands were trembling so much. It took some time to get them to calm slightly, squeezing his hands until nails dug into his palms, helping him focus.

 

Senses regained, pain clearing his mind, it was time to assess the damage done.

It was clear to tell which blood was his. Being the only human, his was red, muddled with hues of blue, purple, and the orange that made his face contort into one of sorrow.

 

He would not cry. He couldn't. He wouldn't allow them the satisfaction. He could cry and weep and sob until he vomited, but only once he was free from this place and making the damned Galra pay for all the innocent blood they forced upon his hands.

Tearing off a piece of the ragged shirt, he began to wipe his hands the best he could. The sweat soaked into it was as close as he'd get to a dampened cloth in this damned place.

 

Hands as clean as they could get, purple bruising on his pinky and ring finger became apparent on his right hand, as well as the awkward shape at the second knuckles. Broken. Shiro recalled a hard punch delivered to a tusked aliens face in the fight for a mace. At least the blow was enough to grant him access to the weapon to then dent the alien's skull.

 

Bracing himself, he snapped the two back into place with a choked gasp. Once the throb of the sudden snapping of bone back into place subsided for the most part, he used another, longer strip of torn cloth to bind them together with his middle finger. Anything to splint it would be difficult to find in this place, if not impossible, so it’d have to do for now.

 

One injury down, the next to address was the sting and slow drip from a set of four claws.

 

The beast reminded him of a tiger, although it was hard to get a good glance at them when they were swiping for his throat. It was good he dodged when he did.

Removing the shirt, he sat up straighter, sliding down the bodysuit to his hips. Bruises, minor cuts, and healing or already healed scars decorated his skin.

 

Using the same dirty shirt the Galra oh so generously provided day after day, he tore it in half. One half he held to his side and pressed up against the wall to keep it in place.

 

With the other half, he held it close to his face and picked at it carefully until he tug out a decent length of thread. He held it tightly between his lips as he then began to dig in the rubble of the cell for a pointed tipped barb he had hidden.

 

Something from an opponent fights ago that was embedded into his thigh. He kept it and fiddled with it carefully to fashion a needle, one for just such an occasion. Better to sew a wound with makeshift medical supplies than let it fester.

 

It was still pretty thick and crude, but it was better than nothing. Steadily, he threaded the "needle". Letting the cloth drop from his ribs, he readjusted to get a better look, stuffing the soaked shirt into his mouth for something to bite onto. The bleeding had mostly slowed to a complete stop.

 

The iron taste spilling into his mouth kept him focused, reminding that he had to do whatever he had to to survive, swallowing the taste down. Teeth chewing down onto the cloth, the thick needle dug into the still tender wound, sewing the torn flesh together. A disgusting wet sound reminding him how fragile his human body was.

 

Once finished, he spat the cloth out and re-hid the needle. Panting and reeling in the searing pain of irritated flesh, he pulled the bodysuit back up.

 

God how he missed Earth's pain medications. Although, he probably missed showers more. No, actually he missed coffee the most. The coffee on the ship to Kerberos was god awful, but he'd drink it eagerly as if it were gods tears itself at this point. Hell, he'd willingly give any of his broken and bruised limbs for a sip of that shitty coffee again.

 

It was moments like this that kept him going. Moments that reminded him that he was still himself, and not the "Bloodthirsty champion" the Galra had marked him as. No, he was Takashi Shirogane who more than anything, craved Earth coffee that tasted like it was brewed in a rusty toilet and served in a tin cup that went cold in a matter of two minutes.

 

The thought brought a smile and laugh to his lips, making him cough slightly. With a groan and a lingering chuckle, he moved to lay down on unforgiving stone. He'd need a good rest, or the most he could get in a cell really, the title “The Champion” came with no luxuries. Any amount of sleep was greatly welcomed.

 

Wouldn't it be funny if an infection from a wound took him in his sleep? But as much as he’d like to disappoint his captors in dying an unsatisfying death; he would much rather prefer dying in the arena to a worthy adversary. Shiro would fight to his last breath, not giving his captors the satisfaction of breaking him down until he begged for death.

 

Rolling onto his good side, or rather, his less recently wounded side, he snickered at the thought. Shifting, he laid his hair in the bend of his elbow, it was some comfort at least. Although his joints always ached when he woke and his body stiff and rigid from the rough sleeping arrangement.

 

They may break his body all they want, but they would never break his will. With that determined thought in mind, he forced himself to sleep. After all he'd need it.

 


	2. A test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, not my best. I was stressed and rushed it. I'm no good at fight scenes BUT, gotta move the story along. The next chapter will be much better, trust me. Thank you if you can bear with me for this chapter.

Morning came with a rude awakening. If it even was morning, it was hard to tell really. Did the Galra even have consistent hours of their day to consider morning or night?

Either way, Shiros awakening was harsh, as well as unusual. Typically, when the Galra came to whisk him away to the arena, they'd come with a meager breakfast and small tin of water. 

It'd be a waste if the gladiators passed out from dehydration and starvation. Even though it was somewhat dirty water and a biscuit like food that tasted stale and hard as the walls that confined them.

Though the guards still entered loudly, they did not come with breakfast. Shiro sat up groggily, bright purple light pouring into the cell through a wide opened door, peeking over Galra shoulders that stood in the way. Brown eyes adjusted to the hazy light as one of the soldiers spoke, dressed in a more regal set of armor, decorated with the same purple color.

"Champion, you've been summoned."

Summoned? Champion? The typical greeting was usually one of 'On your feet, prisoner!' and would be physically dragged out if not responding quickly enough. With a fight of course.

Shiro squinted, wincing at the pain in his ribs as he moved to lean against the cell wall opposite of them. Voice coming out hoarse, it'd been awhile since he'd actually spoken.

"By who? Another arena match?"

"You are in no position to ask questions," there was the hint of aggression in the Galras voice. They moved to the back before speaking once more, "Bring him. Use force if you must, bind him and muzzle him if he puts up a fight but do not injure his body. Our honorable guests would be displeased to see their toy ruined," there was obvious malice in the voice as they commanded the two soldiers in the cramped cell, as well as two others that awaited outside the door.

Bind him and muzzle him? Typically they'd only restrain his hands behind his back accompanied by one or two soldiers. After all he saw no point wasting precious energy before the arena, it was unavoidable. 

Shiro sneered as they approached, clear that they would use force even if unnecessary. He kicked at the closest Galras knee, making them stumble backwards into another. "Don't you fucking touch me," 

Despite his threat, a kick was delivered to his ribs. Fortunately enough, not the side of the freshly sewn wound. Nonetheless it knocked the wind out of his lungs. In his sharp gasp for air, two sets of hands knocked him over, pinning him to the ground.

A hand moved to press the his face against the hard ground as he found his breath. Sputtering swears, he thrashed and kicked wildly in attempt to get them off. One or two he could take, but all four large Galras descending upon him, he didn't stand much of a chance.

A knee pressed into his spine, making the sewn wound press into the ground, choking out a small growl of pain. The sting was enough to tell him that at least one stitch had torn and began to bleed again. The fourth Galras hands bound his wrists together tightly, making sure to give a small twist to the broken fingers before retracting. 

Slowly and carefully they got off him, bringing him to his feet. Shiro glared, headbutting the Galra to his right, even despite the metal helmet. The Galra reeled back, holding their head as Shiros forehead.

Even quicker than the first time, they slammed him into a wall, struggling to muzzle him with a leather strap sort of device. Of course he bit and refused the entire time, kicking and thrashing in the hold despite the pain.

After tying it securely, they quickly bound his ankles together to immobilize him from any possible future attacks. A good choice on their part.

Wriggling unwillingly, two of the soldiers whisked him up just enough so his feet didn't touch the ground, carrying him out of the cell. It was rather easy with their height and strength. 

Composing himself for what was to come, Shiro breathed steadily through the 3 small slits cut into the "muzzle" secured tightly to his face. Made of some hide, he noted, though with a texture unlike Earths leather, it had a somewhat softened reptilian feel.

Shiro wiggled his bound wrists a bit, noting the same material use for the restraints, his forearms stacked on one another so he could not slip his arms over his head or under his legs. He'd have to dislocate his shoulders in order to do so with their current position. 

Though this was not the route to the arena, or anywhere like it for that matter. The purple light faded into a more pink hue as they carried him through unfamiliar corridors. 

Shiro stole a glance down at his reopened wound on his ribs. The bleeding had slowed to a stop and coagulated naturally, staining the bodysuit with a brown color. He made a small prayer that it wouldn't get infected during the time he couldn't tend to it. 

Turning a corner, Shiro noticed a big difference in the way the Galra soldiers carried themselves, AND him. Straighter, more in a form and in unison. 

Hangar bay doors opened in front of them, making Shiro squint at the sudden blue light. A big change from the pinks and purples, but unlike the arena lights. 

The Galra that stood before him now was much different than the ones carrying him. His suit had a yellow and red design on the front, somewhat like a pair of eyes. However the underbite and large, cat like ears are what stood out to him the most.

Cat like?

Shiro scoffed under his muzzle at the thought alone, earning a small jab and a hoarse whisper to his ear, “Be respectful, mongrel.” 

The one whom he had assumed the leader of the small group, stepped out to speak, voice much softer than when they spoke to Shiro.

“Commander Thace, we have brought the Champion as requested by the druids,”

Yellow eyes gave him a once over before giving a firm nod, arms crossed behind his back, deep voice rumbling, “Good. Bring him aboard.”

Shiro made sure to pay attention to keywords. Thace, druids, and now they were respectful? The guards brought him aboard to the small ship with even more guards, placing him down in a seat. Not too roughly this time, obviously not wanting to invoke the wrath of the commander.

After securing him in place with straps, the saluted, giving that same ‘Vrepit Sa’ shit to the commander before leaving. Straps, to keep him safe during the flight, or to make sure that he wouldn't run away? Probably a bit of both, since with all this talk, he seemed to be precious cargo if a commander had to come and make sure he got to ‘the druids’. 

Thace said little to nothing during the short flight to another, much bigger ship. He was thankful for it. It gave him time to clear his mind and grasp the situation in the peace and quiet. He came to the conclusion that he was going to be brought to these “druids” and presented, more or less. The reason however, was unknown. Perhaps his accomplishments in the arena? After all, they continuously called him ‘The Champion’.

There was a small lurch as the ship docked onto a larger one, through the looks of it through a small window, MUCH larger than the one he was originally on. Although it wasn’t unusual for him to be transported for different arena events, this ship was different.

It was of a grandeur size, hues of dark purple and pinks, quintessence zipping through the vessel like an electrical buzz. Shiro muttered to himself, quietly under the muzzle, “Takashi what are you going to do today….”

The hangar doors opened and carefully for once, Shiro was unstrapped and hoisted out of his seat. Though these set of guards didn't dare touch the restraints the others had put on. Instead the held him up under the arms as well, carrying him through more halls and corridors. If they lowered him at all, his feet would surely drag on the ground. Which was surprising to him, that they didn’t just tie him to a rope and drag him like used luggage. 

These Galra walked like true soldiers, trained and hardened through rigorous military drilling. It was unsettling in a way. 

As Shiro processed all these things, they halted in front of more doors. The one named “Thace” placed a hand onto a scanner. With a beep, the doors opened to wide room.

His eyes darted around it as they carried him in. It resembled a training room, one like the Garrison had for sparring or hand held weapons training. A bench to the left side, and a large window that took up the length of the right wall. 

Thace saluted towards the window, then motioned for the soldiers to place him onto the bench. Once done, they too saluted to the window before leaving the room. 

Shiro squinted towards the window, although whatever room was on the other side of it, was too dim to be seen into. Most likely intentional.

Suddenly a bright light, one like the arena’s, came on above him. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden change of light, he focused on a voice that was coming in over a speaker. It was deep, although not as deep as Thace’s, although it still carried a rumbling, dignified and military-like tone.

“Champion. Haggar and I welcome you to your first test.”

 

Haggar. A name he heard whispered among the soldiers like a ghost story, although he heard little more about it.

Shiro shifted in his seat against the restraints. Test? What for? Not that he could ask directly with the muzzle against his face.

A door opened opposite the way he came in and a single soldier walked in. Preparing himself, he moved as far back against the bench as he could. However, instead of attacking him, they only worked swiftly to remove and collect the restraints before leaving out the same door.

Finally. Shiro rose from his seat, rubbing at his wrists as he glanced back towards the window.

“What sort of tests?” His voice was dry as he asked. Hadn’t he done enough in the arena?

“That is for you to discover, Champion.” The voice spoke again, and once done, panels in the wall opened up showing a rack of handheld weapons.

Just as soon as the panel opened up, another door opened and a soldier, and android this time, with a sword marched in, charging straight for him. 

Shiro groaned internally. Of course a fight. He darted directly towards the rack, grasping for a short sword and ducked out of the way as the androids sword sent sparks flying as its weapon connected with the wall.

Rolling off to the side, he gained his balance and took a defensive stance, letting it charge for him once more. Androids were difficult. They weren’t living beings with flesh easy to cut into and penetrate with a blade.

Shiro found that out difficulty as his sword only scraped a shallow gash into its torso, dodging towards the right in a narrow escape as it swiped at him without being slowed down by pain.

Its left side open, he sent it to the ground with a roundhouse kick. He was quick to step on its wrist to immobilize it from raising its weapon, and sent his sword through its throat and twisted, separating it from its shoulders with a loud buzz of its ‘dying’ wires.

It went limp under his boot. Shiro lifted his sword from it, stepping off with a glare towards the window.

Alas he hardly had time to catch his breath or voice his protest as two more came through the door.

Defeating those too, quickly with the new knowledge he had gained, he wanted to shout at whatever people were on the other side of the window, however cut off with the marching of more into the room.

Three this time. Defeated quickly.

Then four. Defeated, not as quick.

Then five and so forth until he stood on a mound of mechanical parts, ragged and worn. Clothes torn more than usual, a slice in his side from when he had dodged the eleventh, only to be jabbed by the twelfth. 

A seemingly endless cycle of ‘defeat and repeat’.

Shiro caught his breath, awaiting ‘round 31’ until the voice came back on.

“That is enough, Champion.”

A break? Shiro staggered, dropping onto his knees as he leaned against the sword for some sort of support.

The voice returned with more, “You have passed your first test.”

Tired, without having much sleep the night before, and hungry as well as thirsty, and his wounds burning as they seeped, Shiro finally collapsed among the pile of dismembered parts. Body worn out and abused, his throat burning and head pounding with thirst, he slowly slipped into unconsciousness as it all took over.


End file.
